Dead to Me
by Insanity Smiles02
Summary: Everyone in the Loud family is done, alone, scared, and angry. Custody battles, gangs, foster homes. Everything is going to hell... and nobody can do shit about it. Rated for: Abuse (all kinds), Sexual Content, Gore, Violence, Drugs, Underage, Pedophilia, Swearing. (There is also no incest... fuck that.)


"You know what, Lynn? I'm done, I'm fucking done," She hissed through clenched teeth, "All this? Over. I thought we could talk about this, talk about our problems. But like always, you always avoid this." Her eyes narrowed, water making the dark green orbs blurry, her hands curled into fists by her sides.

Lynn glared at her with furious brown eyes. His arms crossed over his chest, hands tightening on the fabric, "Oh really?" He let out a sarcastic laugh, "I'm the one you're blaming? Are you serious right now? I try, god dammit. I try, and you know what you do?" He hissed.

She clenched her jaw, and snarled, "What. What the hell do I do, huh? Tell me!" Her voice ending with a shout.

Lynn took a step forward, and whispered coldly, "You nag and nag and nag. You never leave me alone, you yell all the fucking time at the kids for no reason, and you blame everybody for their problems. So yes, _dear_ , I get frustrated when YOU'RE ALLOWED TO SCREAM, BUT WHEN I DO, YOU PLAY THE FUCKING VICTIM CARD!"

She took a step back, her chin wobbling with her effort to contain the sobs that wanted to escape so badly. She looked into his brown eyes, glaring at her through lidded eyes. His tensed frame, his stocky posture. "Am I really that bad?"

He threw his arms in the air, and scrunched his nose as his voice rasped, "Yes. Yes, you fucking are," he turned his head away from hers as his eyes roamed the wall behind her head, "but so am I. And... and I know I need to work on that."

She dropped her gaze, still refusing to let the tears flow out. She curled away from him, and Lynn sighed. "Rita... you don't see it, do you?"

Her wobbly green eyes looked at him again, and she pulled her hands together to play with the hangnail, "What don't I see, Lynn? The fact that nobody cares about me? That I'm apparently an awful mother?" her words came out bitter, scared. She let out a short breath and made her way into their bedroom, turning down the hall.

Lynn followed her, still shaking in fury, but he tried to keep it grounded. He didn't say anything to what she said, knowing that she would then go on a long rant on how nobody loved her, how he was hurting her, how that she wanted everyone to say, 'I love you' after every single fucking sentence, then screaming at those who don't. He avoided that, for now.

She slammed the door open, and started to riffle through her drawers. She took out her shirts, then her pants, folding them furiously. She then stalked over to the suitcase, used for those rare get-aways, and dropped it onto the bed, causing the weak springs to creak obnoxiously.

Rita practically threw in her belongings, placing everything in at an erratic speed.

Lynn shook his head, and leaned against the door frame, "What are you doing," his voice was bored, having had this same scenario played plenty of times before.

Rita paused for a moment, before she spun around on her heel, and glared, "You know what, Lynn? I stay with you, because sometimes I see the old you, the Lynn who I fell in love with," her jaw clenched, "And I've thought that for the past eleven years."

She turned back around, zipped up her suitcase, and pulled it off the bed. She stalked towards the door, shouldering away Lynn roughly. He moved out of her path, an angry tick in between his eye-brows.

She stormed down the stairs, her feet clomping. Lynn followed her, fists still clenched. "Rita, what the hell are you doing?"

Rita kept walking, and stopped at the coat rack, hand reaching for her jacket. As she was pulling the red, wool thing on, she spoke, "No, Lynn. I can't do this anymore... I'm just done. We fight all the time... you don't touch me like you used to... and I'm not sure I even love you anymore."

Lynn swallowed a lump in his throat. "Really, Rita? You do this every time. You walk out, for what, two hours? Then you're back, we 'talk', you play victim, then we forget all about it three days later." He sneered, "What makes this any more different?"

Rita looked at him, her glossy green eyes filled with angry tears, "Maybe I want us to work, Lynn! Maybe I want a happy family for our children. Maybe... maybe I was waiting until this all moved past this," She reached for her scarf, "and, maybe, I'm tired of this playing like a broken record. I'm done."

She stared him right into his brown eyes, "I'm done."

And with that, she gripped the bronze handle of her beaten down grey suitcase with white knuckles, and reached her other hand for the door handle. As she stepped her right foot out the door, she turned to him for the last time, and whispered,

"I'll be back for the kids in a month."

And with that, the women who held him up, the one who he promised happiness with, who made him laugh, who gave him a family, left into the snowy night of December twenty-fourth.

Lynn stared at the door, for what seemed to be hours, and felt something hot slide down his cheeks. More and more trails followed, some falling into his parted lips, tasting the salty tears. He started to tremble, his hands shaking so badly as they went to grasp his middle. He collapsed on the stairs, head buried into his arms. He then began to let out muffled sobs, into the darkness of his house, only the light from the Christmas tree illuminating the empty room.


End file.
